Nocturne
by zaraX
Summary: She shifted to look up into his eyes, which shone dimly in the darkness, and said softly "Would it be really clichéd if I said that I never stopped loving you?" "Would it be trite if I replied 'I never stopped either?" Dramione. One-shot, EWE, COMPLETE. Happy new year!


**A/N: I guess finally broke out of my anti-writing phase (which probably resulted from getting writer's block in September) because I just spent the whole weekend writing this—just in time for 2014! I originally wanted to keep this to just 1000 words but as usual, I got carried away. Inspired by the songs Stubborn Love (the Lumineers), Dust to Dust (Civil Wars) and Run (Leona Lewis). R&R, and Happy New Year!**

_It's better to feel pain than nothing at all,_

_The opposite of love is indifference_

**Stubborn Love – The Lumineers**

**Malfoy Manor**

She kept her hands by her sides, fingers dancing to the rich melody blossoming from the string quartet, as if the folds of her gown had been transfigured into ivory keys. Tchaikovsky. She'd heard the beautiful symphony before, though she couldn't remember when or where…

Reprimanding herself for almost appearing to enjoy the music, she quickly balled up her hands in the material of her skirts and ducked into the shadows. Here, she could safely view the scene before her without some drunken wizard approaching her.

Crystal chandeliers and dozens of floating lanterns illuminated the grand ballroom. Below them, a mass of shifting colours weaved together as witches and wizards moved across the marble dance floor, flaunting their expensive jewelry and sipping from delicate champagne flutes.

The Malfoys were famous for their elaborate New Year's Eve parties, this year being no exception. In fact, Narcissa Malfoy herself had claimed—with a surprising amount of courage—that tonight was a true symbol of turning over a new leaf, "dedicated to our victory over the madman, Voldemort!"

Hermione nearly choked on her champagne upon hearing these words come out of the mouth of a former Death Eater's wife.

She knew to search beyond the façade. The Malfoys were desperately grasping at straws. Kissing up to the Golden Trio? Pathetic. But it worked, because everyone who saw them these days was beginning to respect them; the "tragic products of Voldemort's control over pureblood families".

Which made tonight, New Year's Eve, all the more aggravating. It was embarrassingly obvious to Hermione that this party was just a masterfully planned show. A work of art, really. From the emphasized theme of light instead of the typical ice sculptures they were famous for, to the subtle snatches of red and gold that decorated the foyer – it was clear that Narcissa had requested a theme that would showcase her family's revolutionary shift to goodness, morality, and everything that would make Salazar Slytherin cry.

"Granger."

A voice interrupted her musings, and her back stiffened as if a _Petrificus Totalus_ had hit her in the chest_._

She turned around to tell him to bugger off, but her breath caught in her throat when she saw him.

"You look tense," he continued. He offered her a glass of champagne, which she politely declined in an unnaturally high-pitched voice.

The bruises and angry red scratches and cuts that had marred his face during the War had healed, his white-blond hair had grown a bit longer and more disheveled, and he finally wearing slate grey dress robes (she had always begged him to wear grey instead of black). He had changed so much – not just on the exterior, she thought as she stole another glance at his physique – but morally.

She had read the Daily Prophet articles, Witch Weekly columns, heard every whisper and listened to every radio broadcast thanking Draco Malfoy for the massive amounts of galleons he donated to reconstructing Britain since the war ended. Visiting orphans and rebuilding towns…Hermione hardly believed it. But she couldn't deny the facts. Draco Malfoy, one of the most selfish, egoistical purebloods she knew, was tossing his galleons wherever aid was needed.

But it wasn't real. Couldn't be. All that mattered to him was building his image, and since money was no issue, he obviously wouldn't have any qualms about giving it away to boost his status in society.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself back to the present. She was at a complete loss for how to respond. _Godric help me, _she thought desperately.

But the House founder offered no words of wisdom. So a dreadful silence settled between them, where she toyed with the sash of her robes uncomfortably and he sipped from his glass of whiskey, either oblivious to her pain or extremely well at masking his own.

"You seemed keen on avoiding me." He commented neutrally.

"I wanted to…take a break from the crowd."

Merlin, she hated this. _How_ he could stand in front of her and pretend the past five years never happened? As if they had never fallen in love, fought, reconciled, and fought again and again?

She suddenly had a desire to see him angry. Anything to prove that he was still capable of feeling some sort of emotion toward her, even if it meant she had to piss him off in the process. Because at least anger was more meaningful than indifference.

"You've always been a horrible liar."

"I told you – I'm not avoiding you."

"Then why did you walk away when I called your name a few hours ago?"

"Because I don't trust you," she replied coolly. "What did you expect? I'm not stupid, Malfoy - it's obvious you just want to use my name to elevate yours."

_Come on, Draco. Show me you can still feel something._

"Careful, Granger," he warned, though he showed no real sign of irritation.

"I'm sorry, did I injure your new reputation that you built overnight? It must be a real hardship—having to depend on a Mudblood just to regain the favor of the Ministry."

Hermione watched with satisfaction as a muscle in his jaw twitched. Draco closed his eyes briefly before replying with strained patience, "I want to make it clear that you are always welcome—"

"Really?" she interrupted, more aggressively this time. "I think it's too late for that now, so why don't youcut the bullshit and just tell me what you want from me."

"Dammit Granger, " he growled, "You don't under –"

"You know," she cut in, "I believed in you at first. At the start of the War. I…I guess I was stupid enough to think that there still a shred of humanity in you somewhere."

"You're being overdramatic –"

"And now I feel like a fool, because whatever we had together was never real. It never lasted and I should've known that it wouldn't."

He stepped away from her and rubbed the back of his neck stressfully. She waited for him to formulate some witty comeback, but instead, he muttered "Fine," turned away and walked out towards the balcony. She almost groaned. _So close._

Determined, she followed him out past the open French doors and fluttering green drapes, making sure to cast a silencing charm around them.

He had his back turned to her, clearly indicating he didn't want to hear her speak. But she spoke anyway.

"You think you've changed so much, don't you? Truth is – you're still the arrogant, deceitful, bastard you were during the War."

"And you're wasting your breath," Draco said disinterestedly. He shifted his gaze past the expansive grounds to the line of trees in the distance, wishing he were anywhere but here with the insufferable Gryffindor that was making him remember things he'd rather forget. He wasn't drunk enough for this conversation.

"Go back to the party and leave me alone," he muttered, and gripped the railing of the balcony as if his life depended on it, "or stop narrating your bloody list of grievances against me, Granger."

"I'm –"

"_Or_ – " he said sardonically, "better yet – why don't I just erase all these terrible memories you have of me? That'd take care of things, wouldn't it?"

After a moment's hesitation, she replied coldly "Maybe you're right. You should just _obliviate _me. Everything would be much easier for both of us."

He blinked, stunned.

Quietly, "You don't mean that."

"Actually," she tried to conceal the tremors in her voice, shocked by the fact that he actually believed her, "I do. If I could erase every memory of you, I'd gladly do so. Not that you'd care. I mean, you stopped caring about a year ago –"

"_Enough!_"

She flinched, half expecting him to pull out his wand and silence her. But instead, he ran his hand through his hair stressfully and turned around, eyes darkened like summer storm clouds thick with tension.

She had broken through.

"Fuck, Hermione, just – just _stop_! I get it, alright? I do stupid things and fuck everything up and yeah, maybe I am an arrogant, deceitful bastard, but – Merlin," his voice seemed to crack, "are you fucking insane? Do you even know what you're _saying_?"

She held her breath and felt each of his words strike her, one by one.

"Criticize me, if that's what you want. Hell, curse me for all I care, but you're _not_ touching my memories."

"I…I'm not going to…"

"I've done things in the past that I still regret. I was careless and I…hurt people. Including you."

It was Hermione's turn to wince at the wounds of the past. "Draco, don't –"

"But they taught me how to block it out – so that's what I did. Because the more you ignore it, the easier it gets."

Guilt crept up on her and stabbed her in the stomach when she realized that all of this was her fault. She had chosen to remind him of the past; of everything he tried so hard to forget, just so she could get him to feel something for her. It was all wrong – gods, what had she done? Was she really that selfish?

"Draco," she murmured.

"You should go." His voice, barely above a whisper, sounded like thunder.

"Is that what you want?"

When he didn't reply, she cautiously stepped closer toward him.

Two years ago, before the war and violence and drama, she would've wrapped her arms around him and whispered that everything would be okay and they would sort things out. Now the idea seemed ridiculous, but she still felt the sudden urge to do it, no matter how childish and sappy it seemed.

"I didn't mean it," she finally said. "Any of it. "

She placed her hand on his shoulder, tugging gently, "Draco, look at me."

He did – hesitantly – and Hermione made sure to keep eye contact with him while saying "I didn't mean it. I would never erase your memories, Draco. Or mine. What I said was stupid and impulsive, and I went too far.

"You ignored me after the war. So tonight I…I _wanted_ to push you past your limit, just to prove that maybe I could bring that old part of you back. And I'm extremely sorry that I did."

Okay, well maybe she wasn't "extremely sorry". A part of her had felt relieved after watching Draco finally lose control.

She sighed heavily. "I'm going back inside. Narcissa's probably starting the countdown in a few minutes."

Draco, seemingly too caught up in his memories, didn't respond. Hermione swallowed her disappointment – but really, she should've known better than to expect anything from him.

"Owl me sometime?" she forced a weak smile before turning around to leave.

But the doors slammed shut as if a gust of wind had suddenly sprung up, and Hermione stopped.

"Draco, please," she said in a strained voice, and she heard his footsteps behind her, so she turned back to scowl at him, "Stop it. This isn't funny – what are you –"

But all coherent thoughts abandoned her as he pulled her closer to him in one fluid motion and his lips crashed onto hers. The aggressive motion stunned her. She was faintly aware of her conscience screaming _No! _But her trembling hands betrayed her, as did her lips, and – oh, sod it – she _needed _this.

Fisting the collar of his robes, she kissed him back passionately, freeing two years' worth of pent up frustration, heartbreak, anger, and hope. Her chest felt like rupturing when she realized…_he was back. _And she tangled her fingers in his soft hair, tugging him closer, closing the small spaces between them until she was pressed flush against his body, consumed by a desire that matched his, savouring the scent of his cologne and the exquisite taste of firewhiskey and apples…

And when they finally broke apart he held her just as tightly as before, as if Voldemort himself would steal her away.

"Hermione," he murmured into the crook of her neck, "I'm sorry –"

"Don't," she said breathlessly.

A loud _boom _rang out, and she turned her head dazedly to watch as beautiful, glowing creatures began to dance across a backdrop of ink and stars. "Midnight," she said in awe.

Draco watched as she leaned over the balcony and caught some of the falling dust, and wondered, _Salazar, _how was she even real?

His mind was jolted back to a distant memory – the last time they had spent New Year's Eve together, in the room of requirement, drunk and slow dancing to some Tchaikovsky symphony. They were in sixth year, and that was the night he told her about being marked. She stayed there next to him the entire night.

Hermione heeled off the annoying shoes that Ginny had forced her to buy and sat down, exhausted. Draco joined her after transfiguring his cloak into a blanket, and draped it over her shoulders. Tentatively, Hermione allowed herself to lean back into his chest.

"Do you…" she began, but changed her mind, deciding that they'd done enough contemplating for one night.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she reassured him. She watched a majestic phoenix swoop across the grounds before spreading its wings high above them and bursting into a million glittering colours.

"I never gave up, you know," she said, unable to hold in the words. "I…I did hate you, sometimes, but I had always hoped you'd…" She grimaced. _Really eloquent, Hermione. _She shifted to look up into his eyes, which shone dimly in the darkness, and said softly "Would it be really clichéd if I said that I never stopped loving you?"

"Would it be trite if I replied 'I never stopped either'?"

"I think we broke the record for clichés tonight," Hermione chuckled, and snuggled back into his chest.

They stayed like that for a while; watching the night sky and enveloped in each other's warmth, even after the display ended and the guests were beginning to leave, after the warming charm faded away and the darkness settled around them.

It was a half past midnight, and her eyelids were fluttering shut, heavy with sleep.

"Thank you, Hermione," Draco pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, knowing she was probably asleep by now. "For…everything."

He was heard.

**A/N: **I think I spent way too much time on this (okay yeah I did). But I didn't exactly have anything to do other than listen to the distant sounds of fireworks and drink sparkling grape juice while sitting alone in my room with my laptop and that folks is how a fifteen year old girl spends her last day of the year


End file.
